Noir: A fancypants, overused foreign word. A curious color, residual of what bounces off footprints in a slick puddle along a beshitted gutter. A vocabulary of gray that composes a movie shot, informs the literature of men and women, flawed, gun in hand, hand on stocking-clad thigh, clutching at a dark and bloodied heart.
With the prompt of Noir+, Tropus Magazine kicks at the genre, jonesing to bust it open, to break out the goods from the side, the real goods. And don’t look for respite in this town, no, delicate sensibilities packed their bags and took the 3:15 to Palookaville.

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